


CDs

by imimmortalagain



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley Pining, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 23:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19936429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imimmortalagain/pseuds/imimmortalagain
Summary: Crowley had maneuvered himself perfectly. He was face to face with Aziraphale. So close, close enough for Aziraphale’s breath to be hot on his lips, Aziraphale’s eyes had stayed peacefully shut and his hand rested on Crowley’s hip.Crowley couldn’t help the tingles in his stomach when he first started realizing his feelings, nor did he want them to stop. But now, they appeared every time Aziraphale did anything. And they were beautiful, but torturous too. It was as if someone had hummed a melody to a song that everyone knew, but no one could name.





	1. From Eden: Hozier

Crowley walked up and down the aisle of the CD shop. He needed to listen to new music. “Somebody To Love” had drilled holes in his head, beaten in overplayed melodies until he couldn’t hear anything but those songs. He needed a break. 

He needed a break from a lot of things.

He strolled up and down the rows and let his hands trail over the CD cases, his head in and out of reality, he only read about half of the titles out of the ones he saw. 

The CD store was empty, of course, Crowley liked it that way, and whether it was a direct correlation or a coincidence, Crowley couldn’t tell. He was too distraught to notice the effect--if any--that he had on the world around him. 

He saw a CD title that caught his attention. “Hozier”. It sounded familiar. He paused, his hand lingered slightly as it hovered over the CD case before he picked it up and flipped it over. 

He read the tracklist and realized he knew the artist, the album. But if there was one song that he recognized, it was “From Eden”. 

_/Two Weeks Ago, Saturday Night/_

They got off the bus in London. The bus driver wouldn’t realize that they went there instead of Oxford until they were about halfway back. Crowley thought it would lead to confrontation if he had done it any other way.

“You know,” Aziraphale said as he followed after the demon, “You’ve been to the bookshop oh, it must be over a billion times, but not once, in all of the years that you and I have...” He seemed to stumble over the idea as if he was unaccustomed to the fact that he had no more side to worry about, “Have been friends.” Something warm seemed to bloom in Crowley’s chest and he was unsure if he should fight it or not, “I have never seen your house.”

“No,” Crowley said, somewhat absent, his focus shifted from the conversation to the uncharacteristic emotion that just filled him, “You haven’t.” He shook his head as he said it. Then he snapped. He hated being a demon at times, but it was nice that he never had to worry about his keys. 

He opened the door and let Azriphale follow in after him. And then his mind drifted back to bloom in his chest before he sighed. He let--more like forced--his mind to wander to something else. Then it hit a rock. 

He had one bedroom. One bed. He couldn’t sleep on the floor, once humanity invented beds he swore up and down that he would never sleep on another floor again. He’s sure Azirphale wouldn’t complain to sleeping on the floor, he was too nice. Or, maybe he would complain. He had, even if it was slight, a cold streak. But it didn’t matter, Crowley wouldn’t stand for the idea of Aziraphale taking the floor.

And the couch was an option. But not really. There was no comfortable way to sleep on a couch with wings. The wings might not have been present, but the way couches were designed, most notably the backrest, made it uncomfortable. Besides, the couches were too slim to even be considered.

There was no way around it. They were going to have to share a bed. Something about that thought made his stomach weird, tingly almost.

“Hey... I’ve only got one bed and-”

“That’s okay.”

‘Okay’. Crowley jumped at the answer. ‘Okay’. What did Azirphale mean? He never was one to analyze anything, but to overanalyze, well, that was a jump. Was it a good ‘okay’ or a bad one? Did the ‘okay’ actually mean anything other than ‘okay’? Is it normal to care this much about a word?

“Good,” Crowley said and immediately regretted the way it sounded. As he led him through the house they passed through the living room, the rarely used kitchen, and stopped in the study.

“I like your house,” Aziraphale said as he glanced around, almost nervous, “It’s very sleek and… spacious.”

“You hate it.”

“No,” Aziraphale said, incredibly apologetic, “I don’t _hate_ it.”

“Oh,” Crowley drew as he put the two pieces together, “It reminds of you of heaven, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale flashed a guilty face, “Yeah.”

“S’okay,” Crowley said, “I feel the same way about your bookshop.”

“What?” Aziraphale said, “The bookshop makes you uncomfortable?”

“A bit,” Crowley shrugged, “It reminds me of hell, that’s all.”

“No, you should’ve told me I wouldn’t have had us meet up there if I knew, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” His face changed from guilty to upset.

“And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable either,” Crowley said, “I’m fine, I’ve grown accustomed to it. Besides, it feels like you there, not hell. I don’t even associate the two anymore.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale replied, eyes narrowed, Crowley started to move forward, “But! We will be meeting up here more often, you deserve to be comfortable too.”

“It’s fine, Angel” He sighed, “I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, a self-satisfied smile fell onto his face, “Then you won’t care if we meet up here.”

“Angel…” Crowley sighed.

“Crowley.”

“Fine, whatever,” Crowley shook his head. He opened the door to his indoor garden. The plants that lined the room started to shake.

“They seem…” Aziraphale’s voice drifted off as he approached the large one in the corner, “Hey, it’s okay,” He soothed and placed a delicate hand on the plants. The plant slowly calmed down, “What have you done to them?”

“Do you see a spot?” Crowley asked as he gestured lazily around the room, “They’re afraid of the consequences if they don’t grow well. They’re also afraid of me.”

“You wouldn’t-”

Crowley tilted his head, with a smile, as his answer in a way that did not answer the question at all. He continued to walk through and took a right turn at the end of the hallway, just after he had passed a rather explicit-looking statue.

Crowly continued on to his room. He stopped at his door and realized that Aziraphale wasn’t directly behind him, instead, he had just rounded the corner. 

“That statue-”

“They’re wrestling,” Crowley replied. 

“Hm.” Aziraphale sounded unconvinced.

Crowley turned back to the door, “Here we are.” He opened the door to a bare room. A bed sat in the middle of the room, a dresser for decoration on the right and an abstract painting above the bed.

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed and dropped his head backward for a moment, “I should’ve guessed you were behind abstract paintings.”

“Kind of,” Crowley said, “It was a joke really, the first-ever abstract painting was presented in an art gallery by ‘accident’ and I just convinced the attendees that it was the best art they had ever seen… Well, long story short, I didn’t realize that Pablo Picasso was one of the board members, I also didn’t realize that he was a famous artist.” Crowley snapped and his clothes were replaced by red fuzzy pajama pants, his sunglasses still on.

“Of course,” Aziraphale hummed, “Which side of the bed do you want?” He snapped his fingers and his clothes were replaced by an expensive-looking light blue pajama set.

“I’ll take the right side,” Crowley replied as he jumped onto the bed. 

“Okay,” Aziraphale said and he walked closer to the left side of the bed.

“Jump on.”

“Jump on?” Aziraphale asked, “You want me to jump onto the bed?”

“Have fun,” Crowley said, a sly smile rested on his face, he snapped and turned off the lights, and only then did he take off his sunglasses, “Live a little.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale mockingly huffed, before he plopped down onto the bed. Crowley smiled humoredly.

They laid in silence, save the way the bedsheets ruffled as they got situated. And soon enough, they were both comfortable and the room was plunged into silence.

“Goodnight,” Crowley said.

“Goodnight, Crowley.”

They faded off for a moment and were almost asleep when Crowley opened his mouth again.

“Oh, and, Angel?” His words had the taste of an afterthought, but the emotion of something more.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale hummed, groggily, almost asleep already.

“Love you,” Crowley said. Hurriedly. Embarrassed. He didn’t know how he meant it, not really. They had been friends for six thousand years, and in that aspect, yeah, he loved him. But more? The way his stomach tumbled at the thought, well, it wasn’t clear. 

“I love you too.”


	2. It Comes Back To You: Imagine Dragons

_ /Present Day/ _

Crowley put the CD down. The words from the memory still echoed in his head a little too loud. The thing about memories is, they can be colored by future events to easily. The best days of a person's life could be easily overshadowed by one event. And days could be conflated to weeks. It was too easy to let good memories be ruined.

He continued to stroll through the shelves. He ignored the tags that told him where everything was for two reasons. The first, he wasn’t there for any CD in particular. The second, nobody put CDs back where they were supposed to. And no one came through to reorganize it. The place was a chaotic mess.

And something about the resonated with Crowley. It was nice to see that he wasn’t alone in being a complete and utter mess.

He came to a stop by another CD. A band, an album more popular than Hozier. Imagine Dragons. He pulled the CD from the shelf and flipped it to the backside. He scanned the tracklist and stopped when he saw “It Comes Back To You”. 

_ /A Week Ago, Sunday Night/ _

They dined at the Ritz that night. It was beautiful, happy, relaxed. They were finally safe. They had shown Heaven and Hell that they weren’t to be messed with. And that making the decision to mess with them shouldn’t be taken lightly. 

There were other positives, too. Crowley had gotten his Bentley back. And Aziraphale had gotten his bookshop. 

Which Crowley didn’t want to count as a positive. This morning he woke wrapped up in Aziraphale's arms. He didn’t know how he got there but he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t want to move, to ruin that perfect moment. 

But with the bookshop back they wouldn’t have another one of those sleepovers. There would be no more waking up in each other’s arms. 

Crowley let out a sigh as he stared at his bed. He had just gotten to his room and he was so exhausted he couldn’t tell if he had walked there or if he had miracled his way there. He had no memory of it either way. 

He plopped down onto his bed and snapped. He turned off the lights, changed his clothes, put his sunglasses up on the desk, and maneuvered him perfectly under the covers with one move. No work needed.

He closed his eyes and tried to drift off. ‘Tried’ being the keyword. He felt dead, his limbs felt heavy, but his eyes were wide awake. He was eerily aware of the cold spot on the bed behind him. The lack of body heat, the lack of another person. And for some “unknown” reason, he couldn’t fall asleep. 

He must’ve waited hours--or what felt like hours, in all actuality it was really around forty minutes--before he gave up. He threw off the covers and reached for the phone atop his dresser. 

The number had been hardwired into his brain as he had used the same one for around one hundred and forty years. Aziraphale never got a new phone, never upgraded, never broke it, never changed it. It was the same one he got when telephones first came out. It was a  _ miracle _ that the thing still worked. 

Aziraphale, when he first learned out about phones, made it his goal to find Crowley. It made the Arrangement a little bit easier. It made it easy to keep in touch with your only counterpart easier. It made the world a little less lonely. And it worked for them.

Crowley waited as the line rang before he finally heard something other than that annoying trill,  _ “Hello?”  _ It was Aziraphale.  _ “Who is this?” _

“Who do you think?” Crowley snapped, tired and agitated didn’t mix well.

_ “Someone’s in a bad mood.” _

“Someone can’t sleep.” 

_ “Here, try this.”  _ A cup of hot cocoa appeared in Crowley’s hand. He looked down at it and crinkled a nose. He brought it up to his lips and slowly started to taste it, it wasn’t too hot nor too cold.

“Thanks,” He said as he finished his sip.

_ “You’re welcome,” _ Aziraphale said and Crowley could feel his wide smile over the phone,  _ “Well, if you’re good, I’m going to-” _

“Wait… Don’t go.”

_ “Is everything okay?” _

“I… don’t know. I just. I don’t know why. I can’t sleep. I’ve never had trouble before, but…”

_ “Does it have anything to do with having been back to heaven today?” _

“I don’t know,” Crowley said as he took another gulp of his cocoa, “I just…” He knew what he wanted to say but he didn’t know if he  _ really _ wanted to say it. 

_ “Yeah?” _ Aziraphale’s voice was soft, soothing, caring. It was warm.

“My… uh…”  _ My bed feels empty without you,  _ “I just feel alone.”

_ “Well,”  _ Aziraphale started, but he paused,  _ “We can talk if that would help.” _

“Please.” He felt as if he said it too fast, too needy, too desperate.

_ “I would talk all night if it was to help you.” _

The conversation drifted on and it ranged from which side came up with frozen yogurt to plans for the new future. And sure enough, after Crowley had finished his hot cocoa, he was lulled to sleep by Aziraphale’s voice.


	3. The Night We Met: Lord Huron

_/Present Day/_

Crowley set the CD down and continued his search. He stalked up and down each aisle and haphazardly read the titles. He waited for something to stick in his mind.

He reached the end of the row and went to the next one, about to continue his saunter when a primarily dark cover caught his attention. “Strange Trails” by Lord Huron.

Crowley picked up the CD and went through his routine, he searched the tracklist. One particular song stuck out. One particular song that he knew. “The Night We Met”.

_/A Week Ago, Thursday Evening/_

Crowley pulled his door shut and buckled his seat belt. With a snap of his fingers, the engine started and he looked over to Aziraphale impatiently. Aziraphale’s door was still wide open.

“That was delightful,” Aziraphale said with a bright smile, he closed the door and fastened his seatbelt. 

“You know,” Crowley said as he pulled out onto the road, “You say that every time we eat there. Every time.”

“Because it’s delightful every time,” Aziraphale said in a tone and pitch he set aside for the moments in which he felt unjustly attacked or judged.

“I mean, yeah but-” Crowley started, but ended with a shake of his head, “Never mind, doesn’t matter,” He sighed. “Do you want to visit Adam tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Aziraphale said in his usual warm tone. His face lit up with an idea before adding, “We can bring cookies.”

“What kind do you want?”

“No, don’t miracle them. I want to learn how to bake.”

“Really?”

“It could be fun.”

“Whatever,” Crowley said dismissively, but the smile on his face contradicted his voice. He found it cute, “What time do you want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

“Well, you know, Crowley, you can’t sleep unless you fall asleep while on the phone with me and we’re, we’re going to be meeting up tomorrow morning, we might as well save some time and you should stay overnight.” 

Aziraphale’s words were simple, but they had a less than simple effect. Crowley’s heart leaped out of his chest and he took in a gasp. His focus on the road had taken a dive for at least half a second and Crowley already had damage to show for it.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called out as the Bentley took off a side-view mirror from another car. It bounced into the road in front of them before being flattened by the Bentley's wheels.

“Sorry,” He said through a cringe and clenched teeth. He straightened out the car and refocused on the road.

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale asked as he snapped his fingers. 

“I just… got a little distracted,” Crowley said. He hoped against everything that the blush on his face wasn’t as prominent as he imagined it was.

“Well, then I’ll stop talking to you until we get to the bookshop.”

“Angel,” Crowley deadpanned, “In all of the years that I have owned this car, have I ever hurt you?”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything.

“Oh for the love of- I haven’t hurt anyone yet, for nearly a hundred years of driving that’s pretty good. I just got _slightly_ distracted, but no one got hurt.”

“Yes, but you broke someone’s car.”

“You just fixed it,” Crowley said. He used his hand to wave away Aziraphale’s dramaticism, “You’re going to be okay.”

“Please,” Aziraphale said, “Just focus on the road.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, his voice tense. His knuckles turned white as they tightened on the steering wheel. 

The silence that engulfed them was uncomfortable. For whatever reason, it sat tenser than it usually did and it made Crowley’s skin crawl. He itched for the car ride to be over.

Eventually, finally, they were at the book shop. 

“Here we are,” Crowley said as he pulled up to the side of the road. His voice had an unusual somber quality to it.

He was upset. Upset that he had scared Aziraphale. Upset that he put him at risk. Upset that he had gone too fast for him. Upset that in the six thousand years they had been friends, he had always seemed to be a danger. 

“I’m sorry if I went too fast for you.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said sadly, a broken-hearted smile fell onto his face, he reached over and put a hand on his, Crowley met his eyes, “You can’t go too fast for me. You couldn’t find a pace that I wouldn’t strive to match.”

Crowley smiled a quick smile before he dropped it.

“Now, are you staying over or…”

“I’ll stay.”

_/Friday Morning/_

Crowley woke with a start. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He felt ice-cold, sweat stuck to his body and it caught the air from above the sheet. The images of his nightmare still fresh in his mind. 

He jumped up, Aziraphale’s arms fell from his waist as Aziraphale started to stir.

Crowley brought his knees up to his chest, rested his head on his forearms and tried to stop reliving the nightmare. _Crowley was tied to a chair. He couldn’t move._ His chest heaved. _Aziraphale was being dragged by two angels closer and closer to Hell’s fire._ Tears fell down his face. _Because of him, Heaven and Hell had caught onto their little charade. And-_

“Crowley!” Aziraphale nearly yelled as he shook him, “Crowley!” He was on his knees right next to Crowley’s figure. 

Crowley looked up, his face wet, eyes glossy. His chest rose up and down rapidly. He reached a shaky hand out and touched the side of Aziraphale’s face. He let out a deep sigh and buried his head in Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale quickly wrapped his arms around Crowley’s body and slowly leaned back down to his pillows.

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale crooned as he ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. His other arm held Crowley close, “It’s okay… I’m here. You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”


	4. Gravity: Embrace

_ /Present Day/ _

That wasn’t the first time Crowley had that nightmare and it wasn’t the last. He would have it two more times before today. 

He shook his head in the hopes that he could dislodge the memories. He set the CD down and continued on his way.

Up and down he walked, his focus fell in and out. Sooner or later he would probably give up and go back to his home. Or find Aziraphale. Or something. It wasn’t so much that he was mad at Aziraphale, but he was. 

Of course, he was.

But, he still missed him.

A blood-red album called for his attention. Capital letters that captioned the cover “Embrace”. He turned the case in hand and read down the tracklist, eventually, he read “Gravity.”

_ /This Week, Monday Morning/ _

Crowley didn’t know what was more painful. The way his chest ached for Aziraphale when he wasn’t around, or the way his chest ached for Aziraphale when Aziraphale was around. 

When Aziraphale was out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. Or, when he was right there in front of him, but not there for him to have. 

Have you ever liked someone so much that you couldn’t stand to be away from them and so much that you couldn’t stand to be right there with them? It was gut-wrenching, chest-tightening, searing hot, pain. 

Crowley had maneuvered himself perfectly. He was face to face with Aziraphale. So close, close enough for Aziraphale’s breath to be hot on his lips, Aziraphale’s eyes had stayed peacefully shut and his hand rested on Crowley’s hip. 

Crowley couldn’t help the tingles in his stomach when he first started realizing his feelings, nor did he want them to stop. But now, they appeared every time Aziraphale did  _ anything _ . And they were beautiful, but torturous too. It was as if someone had hummed a melody to a song that everyone knew, but no one could name.

In the three days that they had been sleeping together, Crowley hadn’t had another nightmare. He slept peacefully. More peacefully, in fact, than ever before and more than humanly possible. 

But his dreams left a sweet taste on his lips, a sweet taste that would sour too soon. Dreams that couldn’t be matched in real life too often did that. They left falsified memories of something you had wanted for so long. And falsified memories hardly compared to the real thing. 

Crowley loved his dreams and he loved the mornings when he woke up before Aziraphale. Being able to study his face and dream awake. Being able to feel the companionship that he couldn’t feel in a dream. 

He dreamt of holding Aziraphale’s hands, of cuddling with him, of buying him roses, of kissing him, of all of the sweet wonderful things that human couples do that he couldn’t.

Crowley couldn’t keep doing this. He let out a long sigh. Staying kept a sorrow-filled weight in his stomach and leaving gave those feelings time to wear away.

Because he couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t. And he knew that it would hurt if he left, but that was nothing compared to how shattered he would be if he stayed there.

So he left. He slithered out of bed, made sure to tuck Aziraphale in tight, took his leave and drove away.


	5. Not In That Way: Sam Smith

_ /Present Day/ _

He set the CD down. Regret was a bitter thing. Something with jagged, cutting edges. Something that burned in his stomach.

But it didn’t matter. Because he couldn’t change the past.

He continued his search until his eyes landed on a handsome person, who sat with his hands clasped for the cover. “Sam Smith” written across the center, “In the Lonely Hour” beneath it.

He flipped over the CD and read through the list. The second to last song caught his eye. “Not In That Way”

_ /This Week, Wednesday Afternoon/ _

Crowley had his back against the wall. He kept his hands balled into fists. Too many emotions coursed through him. 

But it was easier now than it was when he had started. Aziraphale called multiple times, only to hear  _ “This is Anthony J. Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style.”  _ Eventually, he gave up and walked all the way from the bookshop to Crowley’s house. A one hundred and twenty-minute walk round trip.

Crowley told him that he just needed space. And he slammed the door shut.

Aziraphale hadn’t called since. 

But Crowley would be fine now. He would just wait for the emotions to die. He just had to outlive them. It wouldn’t take too long. Would it? The flame that burned in his chest when he saw Aziraphale was too much to handle. He couldn’t stand being away from Aziraphale, but he couldn’t stand being around him. He could wait out the emotions and eventually, he’d be fine to see him again, couldn’t he? Something deep in his stomach told him otherwise.

He could always tell Aziraphale. Get his rejection and get on with his life. Kill the emotion rather than wait for it to die. 

But Crowley couldn’t do that. He couldn’t risk Aziraphale not being able to look him in the eyes. Aziraphale not being able to be around him. Aziraphale ignoring him. 

Aziraphale couldn’t love him, not in the same way Crowley desired him, Aziraphale was an angel, after all, and he a demon. Enemies? Hell yeah. Counterparts for over six thousand years? Easily. Friends? Sure! Lovers? Impossible.

Another wave of anger coursed through him, he pushed off the wall and launched himself up.

“What did I do this time?” He yelled to the ceiling and threw his arms out to the side, “What did I do God?” His voice was painted red and blue. Tears filled up his eyes. 

He walked up to the wall and pounded his fist against it. He flipped around and put his back to the wall and sunk down.

He folded his hands together and rested his head against them. He let out a deep breath as pain clawed up inside of him. Ate away at him. 

He let his head fall back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling and shook his head lightly. “Why me?” He whispered, his voice soft. He licked his lips as his eyes started to water. 

He wiped them away and looked out.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he just rip out the emotions and be all better? Why couldn’t Aziraphale just feel the same way? Why couldn’t they just have a happy love story? A happy story? Why has their relationship found another way to hinder itself after finally being free of a six thousand-year-long obstacle? Why couldn’t he just be happy?

His gaze fell onto the phone on his dresser. He clenched his fist again and shook his head. He shouldn’t call him. He couldn’t call him. He didn’t need to. But he  _ did _ need to. He  _ could _ call him. He  _ should _ call him. 

He pushed himself up and stalked over to the telephone. His hand painfully hovered over the number pad. His finger swooped down and grazed over the first number before he pulled back. He couldn’t do this. 

He knew that whatever excuse for a reason he came up with would never be good enough. He knew that whatever he told Aziraphale, Aziraphale would never react in the way he had imagined. He knew that whatever he asked, Aziraphale wouldn’t reply in the way he had hoped. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He could put the phone down. 

And he did.

_ /Thursday Morning/ _

Crowley sped through the streets of London. Faster than usual. He had to pay more attention to everything when he went this fast, of course. It had taken a  _ miracle _ to make sure that no one got hurt and that no police car followed after him. 

The Bentley danced it’s way up and down London streets as it traced a trail from his house to St. James Park. 

He needed to get out. To stretch his limbs. To breathe. To feel clean air when he had been cooped up his house for nearly a week. Even a sleek and spacious home could become stuffy and could feel cluttered after that long.

And it was nice to know what time of day it was. Being in the house like that for so long had melted the days and nights together that he didn’t know what day it way until he saw it on one of the electronic billboards on his way there. And once he saw how long he had moped had caused him to feel pathetic.

He walked the sidewalks through the park until he got their spot. Only to see the left side of their bench occupied. Occupied by a certain white-haired, tartan-wearing, book-keeping, angel.

And that certain white-haired, tartan wearing, book-keeping, angel saw him too.


	6. High Hopes: Kodaline

_/Present Day/_

He set the CD down with an unstable hand. 

He continued on his way. He snaked through the shelves of the store. He wanted to find the perfect song to drown his sorrows in. 

A scenic, picture-perfect, lake caught his attention. “Kodaline” was inscribed in white block letters at the top of this album. In smaller letters “In a Perfect World” was written underneath it.

He picked up the album and looked on the back. The fourth song down started a movie in his mind. The song caused broken shards of anger to remerge and hurt to swirl. It was “High Hopes.”

_/This Week, Thursday Morning/_

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. He stood up and took a step towards Crowley.

Crowley’s gut tense up, “Aziraphale,” He said through a deep sigh. 

They stood for a moment, unsure of what to say to each other, frozen. They met each other’s gaze and hoped that the emotions that they both felt could be communicated through their eyes. Knowing that it couldn’t be. This was the calm before the storm that both of them could tell was brewing, that neither of them knew how to stop.

“Where have you been?” Aziraphale asked, being the first one to shatter the silence and break the calm. His voice sounded peaceful, but clearly, there was some other emotion using that peace as a mask. So that tone would only be there for a moment.

“Home.”

“Are you okay?”

Crowley didn’t know how to answer that so he didn’t.

“You’ve had me worried sick.” Aziraphale’s voice began to rise in pitch, he took another step closer to Crowley, now they were only two steps apart. The distance was worth more than it felt, filled with unspoken words that desperately needed to be said, “And why did you ignore me? You know, in six thousand-years I’ve had people ignore me a countless number of times, but I never expected that you would.”

“What do you want me to say? Sorry?” The heat as it rose in Crowley’s blood, but at the same time, Crowley just wanted this fight to be over. For them to okay again. To forget he’s the reason Aziraphale was upset right now and the reason they were having this fight.

“I want to know why you left me. My best friend. The only person who really knows me, who I have been able to count on time and again. I want to know why _you_ abandoned me.”

“Do you really want to know?” Crowley asked as he took another step closer. Slowly closing the gap between them, the painful trench he dug himself.

“Know what? What possible reason could you have?” 

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face closely. He watched every micro-expression cross his face. The butterflies in his stomach danced more and more feverishly as he inched closer and closer to an edge he couldn’t come back from. 

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, before Aziraphale’s face softened and his jaw dropped open, “You’re afraid.” Aziraphale took another step closer, the gap between them nearly gone, “Crowley-”

Crowley basically leaped forward, he put a hand on the back of Azriaphale’s neck and pulled him forward, and connected their lips. The kiss was cut short as Crowley pulled away, and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, he wanted desperately to make sure that Aziraphale was okay with the kiss. 

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and full of shock. His jaw went slack, unsure of how to respond, so he just backed away, fumbled over some sort of excuse about a meeting, before he sped away.


	7. The Scientist: Coldplay

_ /Present Day/ _

Crowley silently filled with rage at the memory. The words replaying loudly in his head. He slammed the CD back down onto the shelf.

He let out a seething sigh through clenched teeth and he balled his fists. He turned towards the exit and started to storm forward. 

This wasn’t working, he decided. He came to the CD shop to drown out all of these emotions, to swallow them, but all being here did was bring those memories back in painful clarity.

He needed to leave.

So he made his way to the front of the door, nearing the exit when one last album stopped him in his tracks. 

It was a clean white, with only the abstract gray form of a human being. It was Coldplay’s “A Rush of Blood to the Head”. Crowley, against his better judgment, retrieved the CD. 

The fourth song down on the tracklist began a bitter reel of memories, the song was “The Scientist”.

_ /Earlier that Day, Saturday/ _

The phone started to ring again. Loud enough to be heard over his music. It was Aziraphale. Of course, it was, he had been calling since Thursday. Nonstop. Crowley grabbed the extra pillow on his bed and threw it at the phone on his dresser. The phone stopped ringing.

For the first time in six thousand-years, Crowley had nothing to say to the Angel. Aziraphale had left his heart shattered in St. James Park, a place they had been meeting up nonstop for hundreds of years, a place that had become incredibly central to their relationship. So, Crowley left his will to talk to him there too.

But, against it all, he still missed him.

Queen’s “Somebody to Love” started again. 

All of Crowley’s other CDs had been left in the Bentley for a little bit too long. Now he had five different copies of Queen’s Greatest Hits. It was hard to think about CDs when you’re preoccupied with the love of your life. 

There was only one song he had wanted to listen to on that disc and it was “Somebody to Love”. It had started off as an excellent way to distract himself. He had lost himself in the lyrics, but it ended up as white noise as the lyrics were burned into his mind.

And when the song started again he hit his breaking point. The song had worn on his last nerve He needed a new god-dam-, satan-blesse- He needed a new CD to listen to.

He ripped the sheet off of his body and bolted up, he ignored the weighted feeling in his legs from underuse. 

He could have easily miracled a new CD, but he’d rather get out of the house. It was beginning to feel stuffy again. He weaved his way through his house smoothly. 

He made it out the front door and slammed it shut, slid into the car, and went on his way. He sped to the CD shop.

_ /Present Day/ _

That’s how he got there. 

He quietly put the CD down and let out a deep breath. He hadn’t found anything he wanted and instead relived the pain he had tried to drown out. 

He shook his head and turned towards the door, he moved before he looked up and made eye contact with someone. With blue eyes. With bright blue eyes. With glassy bright blue eyes. With Aziraphale.

He froze, stuck in the moment. He didn’t know what to say or do. 

But, luckily, Aziraphale did. Aziraphale took steps forward to close the uncomfortable space between them and pulled Crowley up into a hug. He wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, pulled him flush against him, held him tight. He dropped his head into Crowley’s neck.

“I’m  _ so _ sorry. Crowley, I am so sorry.” Aziraphale’s eyes began to water and the tears started to fall, “I am so sorry.”

Crowley pulled Aziraphale tight and rested his head against Aziraphale’s, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have left you. I shouldn’t have ignored you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale let silence envelop them, after what felt like minutes he pulled away, still wrapped up in each other’s arms though. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s gaze and looked deep into his eyes, “I forgive you.”

Crowley smiled lightly, his eyes became slightly glossy, “And you’re okay, of course, I forgive you... I just hope you realize, that I don’t think I can be away from you  _ ever _ ,” He crinkled his nose and shook his head, “again.”

Aziraphale let out a breath he didn’t know he had and smiled, “I think I can live with that.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” Crowley sighed and pulled him back into a hug.

“I have missed you too.”

They pulled away once more and stared deep into each other's eyes. Aziraphale’s hand began to move, much too slowly for Crowley’s tastes, to the back of Crowley’s neck. He pulled Crowley into a kiss. Electricity sparking and buzzing through their lips. And just  as quickly as it starred did it stop.

They pulled away just enough to rest their foreheads together.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Angel.”


End file.
